


Siva

by mxjoyride



Series: Smashing [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Accidental Death, An Abundance of Caution, An Abundance of Tags, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Blood, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Bruises, Cloaca, Delusions, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Masturbation, Memories, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Harm, Suicide, Surreal, War Crimes, Weird Metaphorical Stuff, references to pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27025366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxjoyride/pseuds/mxjoyride
Summary: Garak has turned Dukat away for good, and Dukat is left with an insatiable desire and a shattered mind.--He’d crashed into the mire of his own desire.  It should have been putrid, like a swamp.  But he couldn’t tell anymore.  He craved it too deeply.Garak had done this to him.  Garak had pushed him into this, made him beg, had filled his body like no other had.  Garak had taken him over, had infected his brain, had reached inside and wrapped this infernal desire around his neck like a noose, and then had left him alone and desperate for what he still didn’t quite understand
Relationships: Dukat/Elim Garak (mentioned)
Series: Smashing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914883
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Siva

**Author's Note:**

> I don't live - I inhale.  
> I don't give - I unveil.
> 
> Cardassian biology ideas from tinsnip's "Speculative Cardassian Xenobiology" - https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719479/chapters/3663809

When Dukat closed his eyes, he saw all the bodies. He’d seen them before, but not like this. He had been staring at them for hours now.

He didn’t feel much about the lifeless ones. They had made their choices. 

Even so, they piled around, faces blurred, shadows everywhere, like a fortress around him. The air felt thick inside there. No breeze could penetrate the walls they made. 

Dukat’s breathing was labored, as if someone was sitting on his chest, the contours of their body blurred by all the blankets between them.

The eyes he saw were the ones who lived. The ones he filled. The ones he possessed. The ones he’d wrapped his arms around. The ones he’d pressed beneath him. The ones he’d held down until they stopped moving, until they bruised, until they softened. 

He saw their bellies swell with him, full of new life, the future, and even now, he smiled. He floated above them, shining -- the source of life.

But he was not above them anymore.

He’d crashed into the mire of his own desire. It should have been putrid, like a swamp. But he couldn’t tell anymore. He craved it too deeply. 

Garak had done this to him. Garak had pushed him into this, made him beg, had filled his body like no other had. Garak had taken him over, had infected his brain, had reached inside and wrapped this infernal desire around his neck like a noose, and then had left him alone and desperate for what he still didn’t quite understand. 

Dukat forced his eyes open. He had to move. He had to do something. The blankets on top of him felt as heavy as lead as he moved them away. The air felt cold and solid, like ice against his bare skin. The air seemed to crackle as he moved through it, out of the bed. He could hardly feel where he stopped and the air began. He was everything in the room and nothing at all. He was numbness and cold. He hardly felt real anymore. 

Dukat ran toward the wall, feeling like he was in slow-motion. He hit the wall hard, but the force barely registered. He hurled himself toward the opposite wall, the crash of it vibrating a bit inside him. A feathery sensation. He laughed. 

He hit the walls again and again -- until he was bruised all over, until his nose and mouth bled. He knew the contours of his body by the pain. He knew he was alive by the taste of his own blood. He breathed in deeply. He fell face first to the floor.

He felt his desire curling inside him, thinned and simmering. He saw the bodies stacked around him, higher and higher. He felt the memory of the collar, of Garak’s hands tight around his neck, of the weight of Garak’s body, of those seconds shy of perfect oblivion.

Dukat snaked his arm underneath his body, and his fingers found the wetness that had grown between his legs and pushed inside. He sucked on his bottom lip, tasting blood. He groaned. Had they all felt this way beneath him? It was a gorgeous thing -- wasn’t it? -- to surrender one’s body to undeniable purpose. To power. To life. To perfection.

Only his thumb was outside him now, feeling oddly steady against him, as he’d pushed the rest of his fingers inside, one by one, until he felt full enough to even begin to satisfy himself. His Cho’Ch remained sheathed inside him for now -- it was begging to evert, but he willed it to stay inside. It was an exquisite tension inside him, between his fingers and his Cho’Ch, and the work it took to keep it only made him love it more.

He felt all of their eyes on him. They could see him like this. They knew what he was. They knew what Garak had made him -- no, what Garak found, what had been there all along. 

They were so loud.

With that, his Cho’Ch everted -- wet and needy and groveling for touch. 

It was loud. Everything was loud. 

Garak had made all of this so much easier, before he turned him away. It was no fun anymore, Garak said, and he had no more pity left. It had seemed absurd that he needed anyone’s pity.

Had they all known it when he took them?

He wrapped the fist of his other hand around the base of his Cho’Ch, under his body, and writhed against it, his other fingers still inside, everything so much tighter since he’d everted. It was good, it was so good, but it wasn’t enough. 

What he needed was quiet.

He remembered those seconds at the precipice, with Garak’s hands around his neck. The bliss of floating, the quiet darkness, the explosiveness of return. In a flash, he remembered his younger self -- alone, hardly a man, uniform belt around his neck, a glittering silence, so many times -- had it been so good he had to forget it?

Once he remembered, it was so easy. He didn’t need Garak. He could silence their voices on his own. 

He was on his knees now, one fist around his Cho’Ch again, the other fingers back inside. His belt was around his neck, hooked to the door. His bruised skin throbbed with eager anticipation. He leaned and let the belt tighten, smiling when it got tight enough to squeeze. As it did, every sensation in him started to feel a bit more concentrated, a bit shinier.

No one else could see this. This was his secret, his alone. 

He leaned further, writhed harder against his fist. He found a perfect balance -- the delicious pressure inside him, the friction against his irrlun, the constriction around his neck. Everything felt silver and gold around the edges. His jaw slackened. His tongue moved lazily along his lips, his mouth wet with drool and blood. He closed his eyes.

He could feel it all building inside of him. It was a thick light, the color of honey, and it swelled in him. The seeds of life, the seeds of death -- he carried it all inside him now. Over the precipice, the darkness beckoned with an irresistible shine of its own. He wanted it. He wanted it all. He wanted everything. And now, nobody could deny him what he craved.

As he leaned into it, everything inside him compressed into something volatile, something ravenous. He could taste the darkness now. He could feel it embolden all he carried inside him. He was explosive and luminous like never before. The teeming seeds ate him alive -- his flesh, the charred remnants of a soul. In the end, all that was left was his shell of a body, like a pillar of ash -- a fitting release.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this weird series.
> 
> Here's my writing playlist for it -- https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2VbnjQ73uSJTrAmY1wH4Pt?si=0Urz9RrHTx2W0SkhAzrREw


End file.
